Pie Crust and Hydrangea Bushes

I've written a few things about my Mom who passed away. I took a notion to write her a letter. You might find this boring, since it's about stuff my Mom would be interested in. But, my last site meter report looked like binary code so, what the hell. :)

Mama,

It's July in Indiana, and boy is it beautiful. I don't think you ever went to Indiana, did you? Anyway, summer is the best here. We don't get much oppressive heat like Mississippi. (But folks back home can sure thumb their noses at us come February.) Everyone has their good season, and ours is now. The Queen Anne's lace is overtaking the creek behind the house, and the clover's in bloom.

Oh - I wanted to tell you - I made biscuits today and something weird happened. My mind must have been elsewhere because I dumped the milk in before I'd even cut the shortening into the flour. What a mess! It was the last of the milk, though, so I kept going. I cut the flour into the big gob of goo. It was the strangest feeling dough I've ever touched- more delicate than usual, I think. Believe it or not - they came out fine. Not the best ever, but certainly not bad. I'm glad I didn't give up.

I planted a hydrangea bush out front two years ago. It's the variety called "Endless Summer." It's supposed to bloom on the old growth but so far, mine hasn't. This is its second year, and it only has one tremendous bloom on the front. Oh, and it's pink. Isn't that cool? The one beside the old parsonage back home bloomed white in alkaline soil- mine goes toward pink. I could force it blue, but I find it more fun to just sit back and see what nature gives me. I think you would too.

Bryan and I lead worship at church now. I play my twelve string (the one Daddy's friend in Alabama fixed for me) and lead contemporary music. Bryan runs the projector-- we put scriptures and song lyrics on a screen now. I think you'd like it. We use lots of nature backgrounds, and I imagine you'd appreciate seeing creation-type images during church. It's always good to be reminded that God is everywhere, not just the stuffy little church-box we try to cram him into.

You know, several times a day I see some little ordinary something and wonder what you'd think about it. That's kind of silly though. The longer I think, I become certain I know what you'd think because we talked about everything. During the eye-rolling teenage years I gave you every impression that I couldn't care less about what you thought, but you know what? Now I'm really glad you told me. Because, when I have a problem, I know exactly how you'd solve it. That logic carries me through so many things because you took the time to raise me so thoroughly.

By the way - remember when you used to ball up the extra pieces of pie crust dough and throw them at us when we walked in the back door? The gig is up, lady. I made that recipe for a July 4th picnic, and barely had enough for both pies. You totally MADE extra dough to throw at us.

Thanks.